EAR-WIGGING on other people’s conversations, however unintentionally, usually leads one way. Downhill.

That’s what happened to me at the weekend. I was in a department store where I’d headed for the shoe section in search of, strange as it might seem, shoes.

What I should have been looking for apparently were trends, colours, heel shapes, hot spots and ideas. Classic kicks with a twist.

Momentarily I thought, “Spots? Aren’t they so last season? Or was it the season before?”

But classic kicks with a twist? I admitted it to myself. I was baffled by this fragment of conversation.

Some of you are too? Thank goodness. I thought for a second I’d landed in a parallel universe.

You see I’ve never really been a shoe sort of girl. Yes, of course I wear them, though I did try to walk out of the physiotherapist’s the other day without them until a voice kindly pointed out to me that though I might not notice while I was still standing on the carpet, once outside I would realise something was missing.

It was pouring with rain and I thought I was being reminded not to leave my brolly behind until I realised she was looking at my feet.

I reckoned it was all down to early morning fog both on the road and in the brain!

Still, I’m obsessed with shoes only to the point of buying what fits me and measures up to my two must-have rules – classic and comfy.

So we’ve laid the ground rules. No towering stilettos for me, no designer wedges (of money or shoe leather) and definitely no animal print. Not on my toes or anywhere else.

Which brings me smartly back to that department store conversation. And guess which of the two, assistant or browser, was wearing dizzily high heels in glorious technicolour with a touch of glitter and the kind of multi-way ankle straps that I’d have insisted on if only for safety not glamour.

I felt for the poor assistant who wore the kind of expression I too would sport if I was plonked in that big chair. You know the one.

And your specialist subject is: The collected works of footwear designers (ladies) 1980-2012.

My department store duo would, I’m certain, have scored heavily on current fashion knowledge, designer name dropping, their ability to pick the runaway style success of the season and of course, the on-trend colour.

But I’d sized them up and I thought perhaps got their measure when it came to durability, the classics – the early years. That’s where this footwear outsider could creep up on the insole, sorry – inside.

You see I’ve been doing my homework in the shoe department. No, I haven’t been moonlighting in the section between ladies lingerie and the card section.

I’ve been turfing out my wardrobe and coming over all nostalgic. For when it comes to hanging out with my fashion favourites, it seems that there’s no designer daydreaming for me, it’s ready-to-wear and has been for quite a long time.

Don’t tell any of those TV and magazine experts who reckon that if you’ve not worn something for six months to a year (seasonal weather excepted) then the unloved item should be heading for the charity shop.

I’ve just become reacquainted with clothes and shoes that are more than 30 years old and still keeping the rain out and my feet dry!

The wardrobe hunt reunited me with one of my favourite pairs of shoes. Worn and admired at a recent wedding. Bought 31 years ago this month in Italy.

The shoes were bought at Angelo Shoes next to the Trevi Fountain in Rome and, yes, the shop is still there. According to Google anyway.

I still have the receipt, the shoes never made it on to my brand new shoe rack but are safely tucked up in tissue as they deserve.

Those shoes are stuffed full of memories, of the holiday on which I bought them, a trip through the stunning cities of Italy made memorable by the places themselves and by a bus strike which saw us being ferried across Italy by a driver who spoke only German and a holiday rep who spoke only Italian. Hilarious.

Those memories have been added to over and over again. Sunny lunches with friends, more than one wedding. Anytime I feel like drifting back to the Trevi Fountain I just pop on my favourite blue shoes.

Or the red ones. Did I tell you about those? Not quite the same pedigree. Early Next, not quite 25 years old, so quite a bit still to live up to.

Then there’s the Russell and Bromley boots, circa mid-Seventies, the odd Ossie Clark dress or two which I’m shattered to see are now described as “vintage”.

Come to think of it, sounds just like I felt after that bit of department store ear-wigging. Vintage.

Still, fashion, I decided is great. As long as you wear it how you feel and not how someone else says you should. Shoes are for their lifetime not for a season!